Revaramek the Resplendent - Chapter One Hundred Seven (Patreon)

( Please note - Yes, there are "missing" chapters. Chapter number/order is temporary, and for rough draft organizational purposes only. )

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Chapter 107

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The First awoke slowly, awash in hazy memories of unfamiliar mortal pain. Vague recollections of trudging through endless sand drifted through his mind. A dull thump in his head reminded him of the previous day’s hideous headache. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, gazing around. The room was empty, but his own damp fur told him someone had tended him recently.

“Mica.” The First spoke her name aloud, and the sound of it brought a smile to his muzzle. “My flash of light in the desert.”

He rose to his feet, wobbling. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat sore and sticky. A pitcher full of water sat on a table, tantalizingly close. The First poured himself a cupful, and downed the whole thing. His stomach churned in discomforting remembrance of all the vomiting he’d done the last time he filled his belly with water. The First willed himself not to retch it all back up this time. When will power alone was not enough, he used his power to ease his belly’s anger. Though Mica has asked him not to use his power to heal himself, The First needed to absorb that water, not spray it across the floor.

The First gazed around. The building was composed wattle and daub, with sunbaked clay and sand daubed onto a latticework of wood and sturdy reed. The roof was made of bundles of reeds and hand fruit tree fronds, all thatched together. He could not recall teaching them those technique. That was excellent. It meant they were learning all on their own. He smiled, proud of his people.

A set of clothing was laid out upon the floor, near the sleeping mat. There was a simple, airy tunic, and a set of hide coverings for his lower half. All of it was it dyed in the same striking blue and silver shades as the clothing Mica wore the day before. He did not recall seeing anyone else in the tribe in anything so colorful, and hoped she had not gotten him special clothing just because he was a god.

He lifted up the shirt, looking it over. It was hide, but soft and flexible. They had gotten better with their tanning, too. Perhaps it would not be long before they deserved how to weave reed and bark into fiber, and fiber into clothing and blankets and other things he knew from his travels, world to world. Or perhaps they already had.

“I shall take the fact you’re on your feet and examining your clothes to mean you’re feeling better.” Mica’s voice drifted in from the doorway. “Now, are you going to put it on or just stand there staring at it as if it’s some great puzzle to solve?”

The first turned towards her, tilting his head, one ear perked. “Have you discovered how to make fibers yet?”

“You can’t talk like that.” Mica heaved a long sigh, shaking head. “But we’re starting too, yes. It’s…strange. Sometimes I just…know things, I feel like I shouldn’t. Like you showed them to me, and then I forget them until…all at once, I have a realization.” She waved her hand at him. “Now put your clothes on. Unless you want the whole tribe to see your bits.” Mica glanced down at him, smirking. “Not that half the tribe didn’t already, when you stumbled through.”

The First looked down at himself, then back up at Mica. Then he lifted his shirt again, staring at it.

“It goes over your head. Do you need me to do it, for you?”

“I cannot tell if you are joking with me, or insulting me.”

“That’s the way I like it.” Mica walked to him, and took the shirt, then tugged it down over his head. She worked it past his horns, and pulled it lower across his body. “Arms through the holes at the sides.”

“I know how to put on a shirt.” The First wriggled his way through it, eventually settling the garment against his body.

“You also know how to create life from nothingness, and yet you can’t remember that when you make yourself mortal, thirst can kill you.” She crouched down, fetching the hide breeches. “So forgive me if I don’t believe you. Now step in. Left foot there, right foot there.”

The First stepped in where she instructed him, and Mica tugged the breeches up over his legs. “Forgive me if I pinch anything I shouldn’t.”

“You shouldn’t pinch anything.”

“And you should learn to dress yourself.” She pulled them up above to his hips, then pointed to the ties. “I’ll let you do those yourself. There’s a loop in the back that ties over your tail.”

While The First figured out how to tie his clothing in front and back, Mica poured him some more water. She returned and handed him the cup. He took it from her, drained it all in a few long gulps, and passed it back. After she set the cup down, he gestured at his clothing. “It’s all tied. Have I done it up right?” He turned around so she could see his tail, then faced her again.

“Aside from one of your baubles peeking out, yes.” Mica laughed and shook her head. “Deal with that situation, and then come to the doorway. I’m guessing you came here, in this form because you wanted to…”

“Live among you.” He repositioned his breeches, then walked towards her, savoring the breeze through his fur as it blew in through a small window. “I missed…I missed life.”

“I rather guessed as much. I know what experiencing life meant to you, before, and I know where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing. You must be finished with all that, and…ready to…to live, again. So I’ve already spread word of who you are…” She trailed off as she walked to the exit, then glanced back. “Not who you really are, but…who they’ll think you are.”

“I already had a story decided upon, that I would tell them.”

Mica only laughed. “Then you shouldn’t have stumbled into my village, ready to pass out, should you? Because the moment you did…” She reached out and poked his nose with a single finger. “You left the choice to me, and now, my dear god? Now you have to live with it.”

The First tilted his head, one gray-furred ear perked. Just what was she up to? He followed herself, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. Just outside the little building, dozens of urd’thin milled about, adults and youths alike. It looked as though the whole tribe had turned out to see their visitor. They murmured amongst themselves, ripples of uncertainty, nervousness, and excitement alike all washing over them in waves of rolling color.

Mica clambered up onto a hunk of stone, cut from the nearby ruin. They’d shaped it into a pedestal of sorts, from which she could address her people. She waved him forward, and he scaled the pedestal to stand next to her, gazing out across the crowd of his people. As delighted as he was to see them prospering, he still had no idea what she was up to. Tempted as he was to dip into her mind and find out, that seemed to take the fun out of it. He did notice, however, that Mica was the only one who wore clothing dyed in bright silver and vibrant blue. Other than himself.

“I bear great tidings!” Mica her hands up, and her people greeted her with happy yowls and yapping noises. “Our visitor is recovering, and he is as I believed he was!” She paused to smile at The First, and then swept her hand across him. “He is truly The First Chief!”

The First…Chief? He splayed his ears. “What are you-”

“He is like I am!” Mica shouted over him, not willing to let him question her. “He too, hears the voices of the gods!”

The First sucked in a breath, fur bristling. “What are you doing?”

“He has wandered the great desert, from tribe, to tribe, spreading the words of the gods! Just as I spread them amongst you, my people!”

Mica spread her hands out, and flashes of beautiful colors flickered in the air. Soon images of urd’thin followed, lean and strong, wearing fiery comets like feathers and shining stars like beads, and dancing amidst the vast cosmos he once showed her. People howled and cheered, or stared, mesmerized by the images. The First stared, too. He had not given Mica that power. At least, not specifically. She must have learned a great deal about how to manipulate her shaping while he was away.

When Mica waved her hand across the image, she wiped away, replacing it with another. This time, a vast ocean of sand hovered in the air, glimmering like golden dust. A lone urd’thin wandered it, gray furred, tall and proud, but bent down by the sun. Far above him, glimpses of the cosmos lingered, and the gods with their comets-feathers and star-beads watched the urd’thin cross the desert. They whispered to him, and theirs came as wind, swirling the sands, and guiding him, at last, to an oasis.

“And now, the gods have guided him here! But we, the first tribe to wander…” She lowered her hands, and the image fell apart, tiny, glittering particles of it cascaded like sand-hued rain, and littered the ground before dissipating into nothingness. “We already know the gods’ words.” She pointed to a random urd’thin, calling to him. “Don’t we?” That urd’thin howled, a long, jubilant noise, and when she pointed to another, he did the same, and then to another, and she howled as well. “We know their words, don’t we?” Mica pointed to a pup, who did her best impression of the adult’s howling noise. “We do know! The howls of the gods give us meaning, give us life! And that meaning islife! It is our duty, our sacredduty, to do what the rest of our people could not!” Mica balled up her fists, and thumped herself on the chest times, her tail fluffed out. “It is our duty, our purpose, to undo the mistakes of Those Who Came Before. To spread life across this desert, to rebuilt their shattered empire, and renew this broken world!”

As one, the whole crowd howled with her. Some beat fists against their chests, others stomped their feet. Parents ruffled held their pups up so they could howl with the rest of the group, too. The First was, as always, stunned by Mica. While he was away, not only had she honed and perfected her powers in areas far outside her healing realm, but she had continued to build for her people an entire culture, an entire history for them to believe in. She had given them a reason for existence, and they believed in it, wholeheartedly.

“You may ask yourselves, what need do we, who already know the words of the gods, have of another who hears them?” Mica turned to face The First, and smiled at him. “But that is not why you have been guided here, is it?” She gestured at him, swishing her tail. When he only stared at her, she mouthed a few words, asking him to reply.

The First stared at her, glanced at the crowd, then perked one of his ears. Just what tale was she planning to tell? “…No?”

“No!” Mica turned to the crowd again, casting her arms wide. “That is not why the gods sent him to us! You see, this brave wanderer, he has seen the vastness of the desert, he has known the searing heat of the sun, and the flooding rains of the storms, he had suffered its great isolation, and cherished the kindness of its scattered peoples. He has spread the gods’ words, and now…now at last, he has a new duty.”

The First leaned in to whisper. “I do?”

Mica dropped her voice down to match, giving him a very knowing smile. “When last I saw you, you told me why you were leaving, what you meant to do. So, I must also know, did you succeed? Are there others, now?”

A smile spread over The First’s muzzle. “Many!”

“Then yes, you do have a new duty.” She bumped his cheek with her muzzle, then lifted her voice, calling out to her people. “The gods have anointed him in their silver and blue, because like me, he has a great duty! And they have named him their First Chief, because that great duty is to guide us our on journey across the desert!” When The First made a startled, yelping noise, Mica has a hand towards the sky. “I hear the voices of the gods, and I pass their great wisdom onto you, my people! I know how to survive, how to live in this place, but I know not the way across the sands! And The First Chief hears the gods, but knows not the tricks of survival, guided here only by their benevolent hands! The Gods showed him the path across the sand, from wandering tribe, to wandering tribe, so that he, in turn, could show us the way!” She turned towards him again, grasped his hand, and held it up in the air. “The gods bring us balance, always! My wisdom, and his guidance! Survival, and pathfinding! When the time comes, The First Chief will show us the way to every other scattered tribe of shapers, and together, we shall unite! High Priestess, and First Chief of one grand nation meant to renew this broken world!”

Mica howled, long and loud, offering all the air in her lungs up to the gods in the sky. The whole tribe howled with her. When she squeezed The First’s hand, he tipped his head back, and howled just the same. The sound echoed across the oasis, across the sand, and out into the desert. At last, when everyone was utterly out of the breath, and gasping, Mica released his hand.

When Mica caught her breath, she smiled at The First, and spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Are the gods pleased?”

The First could not help but smile back at her. “The gods are pleased.” Then he lowered his voice, so that only she would hear. “You sneaky little-”

“The gods are pleased!” She threw her hands to the sky, and howled one more. All the tribe did the same, and their exultant yowling drowned out the rest of his retort. When the sound faded once more, Mica smiled at him. She leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Now you’re stuck with us.”

Before he had a chance to reply, Mica leapt from the rock, down onto the sands below. She waded into the crowd, and made her way towards her family. Nemil hugged her tight, then they pressed their muzzles together. After their kiss, Mica hefted her daughter up, and plopped the little pup on her shoulders. She waved at the pedestal upon which The First still stood.

“Well, First Chief? Come and meet your new people!”

The First stared at her, then shook his head. Had she known he returned, intending on nudging them into exploration? Or had she come up with that idea all on her own? Mica was as clever and insightful as any creature he’d ever encountered. Somehow, she always seemed to be one step ahead of her creator. Of that, he could not be prouder. She was right, too. Thanks to Mica, has reason for being here was now woven into the tribe’s very beliefs. If he left, if he vanished, if he led them astray, their beliefs in Mica, and in their own existences would be shaken. If he wished for them to continue to thrive, he had to do as Mica said he would.

As he hopped down from the pedestal to meet the tribe, The First wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.

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True to his word, The First took up the mantle of Chief. He helped Mica teach her people. They discovered better ways to carve and shape stone. They learned how to turn the bark of certain tribes, and the fibrous from reeds, and the fluff they grew in spring into fibers with which to weave cloth. Though they could use their shaping to make such things an easy process, Mica insisted they learn to master doing it by hand. After all, she often said, it was overuse of their shaping that doomed Those Who Came before. Each time she said, she gave The First Chief a knowing smirk.

Clever, clever, Mica.

When the tribe’s youngest pups had grown enough to handle a long journey, the Chief did as promised, and led them out into the desert. It was soon apparent that he had not placed enough oases close enough together to make for safe travel between every tribe. His own near-death desert wander back to Mica’s tribe made it clear to him, he still had trouble translating mortal deeds into the plans of a god. Not that it mattered, now that he was with them.

When water ran low, he simply brought the rains to them. Though he was planning on hiding that from them, Mica told her people it was the First Chief who shaped the rain, that the gods had given him such power to aid their passage. As he grew used to the idea, he told the others that while it was a rare ability, it was one the gods would bestow upon others as well, to ensure prosperity when it came time to spread the desert into the wasteland. He also told them that a time would come when their pups would prove to be even stronger than they were. That restoring the world to life was not something that could be achieved in a single generation, but rather, each generation would have its own impact.

Whenever such discussions came about, Mica always had something to add. Someone asked why the gods did not restore the world themselves. Mica’s reply was that the gods had not destroyed it, their children had, thus, it was up to their children to fix it. All the gods could do was supply the tools.

The First Chief guided them across the desert, and they became as nomads. Mica taught them to make more modular homes, constructed of things like slabs of hide stretched across wooden frames and lattice work. They could carry sections with them during the day, and set them up again at night. Whenever they reached a small oasis, they set up their village around it for a little while. They built round yurts around the water, with hide and cloth layered over wooden lattice, and poles supporting a domed roof.

There, they would rest, and spend their days hunting and gathering enough food to replenish their stocks before the next leg of their journey. It was also a good time for them to make repairs to their homes, to tan new hides, to craft new tools, and so on. They cut down some of the trees around the oasis, harvested reeds from the water’s edge, and shells from the shallows. At night they sang and danced, and sipped fermented fruit juices. When the time came, they took their village apart and moved on again.

The process repeated for months before they encountered the first of the other tribes. It came as a great surprise to the other tribe, who was much smaller, and did not expect so many visitors. They were uncertain and a little afraid, at first, and their warriors came with spears and axes and knives, ready to defend their small village. Mica bid her people to come forward as well, not with weapons, but with gifts. Her people brought dried fruit and fish, preserved meats, and beautiful jewelry and adornments made from bones, from shiny rocks and stones, and from the colorful insides of shells.

Peace came easily enough between the two tribes, and Mica made it clear they had not come as conquerors, but as friends. The First Chief was not meant as a title of rulership, only of guidance. She would not force them to join and follow any more than she would force their own leaders to step aside. Mica was happy to share all her knowledge with them, if they would but share their lands and water a while.

They stayed there, for a few months, and let their peoples mingle. They swapped stories at night, each tribe regaling the other with their own versions of histories, and their own persona legends and tales. The smaller tribe had discovered silver, in a ruin, and had learned how to craft and shape with their powers, as well as with a suitably raging fire. They shared that knowledge, in return for Mica’s teaching of things like how to make cloth, and the most effective ways to build structures from wattle and daub. She also knew much more than they did of medicines and care for wounds, and passed that knowledge on as well. Friendships were forged, alliances made, and in some cases, new life was created from those who found attraction or love together.

All the while, The First Chief smiled to himself to see his great story unfold.

When the time came for The First Chief to lead his people onwards to the next tribe, Mica gave a great proclamation. Those who wished to join them were welcome to do so. And those of her tribe who wished to remain behind, with new families, were just as welcome to do that. They left that village with a mixture of old and new tribe members. Several new families remained behind, just as several new families ventured forth with them.

With pregnant females and newborn pups in the group, the group took special care not to overtax anyone. Urd’thin pups did not have to be nursed for long before they were able to start eating other foods, and they were quick to find their way to their own two feet. But it was still an arduous journey for those growing life inside them, and those who nursed their newborns. They traveled slower, and built simple conveyances to carry those who needed extra rest. Whenever a female went into labor, they would camp long enough for her to give birth, and to recover before they continued their journey. Without ever telling anyone, The First watched over each pregnancy and birth. Though he knew one day he would have to give up doing so, for now he ensured that all complications were resolves safely.

Eventually they reached the next tribe, and the process repeated. Gifts were given, stories and knowledge were exchanged, and friendships were forged. This time they stayed throughout the dry season, and when the rains returned, Mica decreed them as a sign. They would follow the rains out into the desert again. Just as before, some of Mica’s members stayed behind, while others from the new tribe joined them. They returned to wandering the sands with more urd’thin amongst them than ever before.

Again, they crossed the desert, and again, in time, they reached another tribe. Here, things did not go as smoothly at first. This tribe developed a different sort of leadership structure, where their tribal elders had all proved themselves to one another in combat. The First could not recall giving them such a concept, and he was starting to wonder just what kind of limits having a mortal brain put on his memories, to say nothing of his perception and understanding.

It was not long before they were challenging the tribe’s leaders to combat. Thankfully, they did not battle with weapons, and did not fight to the death. Though The First was prepared to fight with them if need be, Mica reminded him he had no actual combat experience. Unless he was going to use his powers, and cheat, he was probably going to lose. Instead, she offered to fight for both of them, referring to him as a peaceful chief, and herself, as a warrior priestess.

This pleased the other tribe, and soon Mica sparred with their largest warrior. The bout was won either by a forced submission, or by putting your opponent to the sand, three times. The battle did not last long. Though the male she fought was larger than her, Mica was lighting quick, and possessed years of experience sparring within her own tribe. She put the larger warrior down in fair combat three different times, and was declared the victory. When he refused to accept his defeat, Mica simply kneed the larger urd’thin in a place that left him curled upon the sand, whimpering. The rest of the males groaned, and the females cheered. Then, accepted as a warrior renown by the new tribe, she was at last allowed to have her people present their gifts.

After that, everything went easier. This time, instead of just sharing stories and knowledge, the tribes also swapped fighting styles and combat techniques. Warriors from both sides gained plenty of useful information from each other, and friendly spars proved common. Occasionally they grew less friendly, and a few injuries resulted. Mica healed only those that would not otherwise heal up properly on their own. She fixed a shattered knee, to prevent its owner from living with a permanent limp. But she only healed it enough so that it could eventually heal on its own. A fractured forearm, meanwhile, she simply splinted and left to heal up over time. She told each of them that injuries were meant to teach them something, and if she simply returned them immediately to full health, they would learn nothing.

The process continued, and again they wandered the desert, guided by the First Chief of the unified tribe. Though he was not truly mortal, the First had come to living as one immensely. Every bit of food, every sip of drink, every grain of sand beneath his pads and every drop of rain against his fur made him feel…alive. He knew no other way to describe it. The First greatly enjoyed spending time with Mica and her family. He drank and laughed with Nemil, and he carried their daughter on his shoulders, and painted her dreams with the cosmos. Even before he realized it, they had become great friends to him. And they were not the only ones, either. The First had made friends with many of their tribe members throughout their long journeys. Part of him longed to tell them all the truth about himself. Another part of him wished he truly was mortal, so that their friendships would be…

But they were genuine. He cared for these people, and not only as a parent might love a child. He had gotten to know them, called them friend, never wanted to part company from them. The longer he spent among them, the more he allowed himself to forgot who and what he really was. He never completely forgot, because he had to rely upon his perception to guide them from one tribe to the next, to care for them when rains did not come, and ensure their young were all born safe and healthy, while their people were still fragile.

Some days, he wished he truly was mortal, for he knew that as a god, eventually his friends would age and die. While it gave him great joy to know that their descendants would live in, that his story, and its people would flourish, he did not want to have to say goodbye to anyone. He knew as a mortal, he would still have to let friends and loved ones go, but somehow it seemed different, as if knowing he might one day see them again when he himself perished made it easier.

By the time they had visited most of his tribes, a decade had passed. By then, Mica’s daughter was nearly full grown, and courting males herself. Mica had a second daughter, now, as well, and if she and Nemil kept celebrating the growth of their people after visiting the latest oasis, they might well have a third pup on the way soon.

One night, Mica walked with him, beneath the stars, away from prying ears. She held his hand, and asked him if he ever felt lonely, without someone to hold at night. It was a strange question, he did not quite know how to answer. She admitted that he had stayed among them longer than she ever thought he would, and she wondered sometimes, if he wished for a family of his own. A mate to hold, a pup to raise, someone who loved him, as he loved his people. Someone to love, as she loved Nemil and her daughters.

It occurred to him then, that part of him did want that. Just as part of him wished he was truly mortal, so too did he sometimes wish for the other aspects of mortal life. A mate, a child, a home to call his own, a family to raise there. He told Mica the simple answer was yes, but the more complicated answer was that it was impossible. It would be unfair of him to take a mate, without telling her truth, and the truth should rightfully terrify any prospective mate. More than that, he was their protector, their overseer, their creator, and though it may pain him, it felt somehow…wrong…for their creator to have a child with a mortal.

It was not his place.

It was their story to tell, and not his to alter.

Mica hugged him then, as tight and loving a hug as she had ever offered. He hugged her back, thankful for her comfort. As their hug lingered, reasons he did not quite understand, Mica cried. He considered peering into her mind to see why she was sad, but he scarcely did such things anymore. Especially such a time, it seemed quite rude a thing to do. In time, Mica made her feelings clear enough.

Mica tilted her head back from his chest, tears streaking her sandy-beige fur. She managed to smile, and gave his chin a lick. “It is a great shame, that you have shown us such kindness, such love. You have built us from nothingness, shared with us your breath, and your blood, you have given us your love, and yet…” She sniffled a few times, flattening her ears. More tears soaked her fur. “You see love, you understand it, you see it grow between us, you…you surely perceive it warming our hearts…sheltering us from the storm. You see the love of our family, you understand that it brings us joy, and yet…all you can ever do is, is watch from afar. You…you perceive love…” Mica pressed her muzzle to his chest, and gave him a kiss, just over his heart. “And yet, never will you know love. It is…a great injustice.”

A confused sort of sorrow settled over The First. He stroked Mica’s ears, not wanting her to cry. But soon, tears welled up within him, just the same. He was not even sure why. When he cried with her, Mica hugged him all the harder, stroking his back. Only when his tears ended did she finally release him.

“Promise me one thing.” Mica stepped back, and held her hand out to him, the same way he had once done, upon their first meeting.

The First took her hand, and gently squeezed it. “What is it?”

“When this is done.” Mica waved her free hand at the world around him. “When we don’t need you anymore…”

“You’ll…always need me.”

“Not if this story is truly ours, for good or for ill…” Mica set her other hand atop his. “Promise me that one day, you’ll let yourself know love, as we know it.”

“Mica, I-”

“Promise!” She splayed her ears, growling at him through her tears.

The First took a deep breath, and swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Mica squeezed his hand, then slipped forward to hug him again. She pressed her muzzle to his ear, whispering. “When the day comes, when you find love, when you know love, you cherish it! And don’t ever let it go.”

“I won’t, Mica.” The First returned her hug, smiling again. Somehow, she always left him feeling better. “I won’t.”